Never Forget
by StupidX
Summary: Now Complete... with Epilogue!:: When all hope is lost, what do you do? Crawl into a hole and die... I was trying to stir up a reaction with this one. I haven't seen it done before.
1. In Memory of the Fallen

A/N: This is an idea I had boiling in the back of my mind since I started reading fanfiction. That was a long time ago. Now the idea has been fleshed out, and I'm feeling really satisfied. 

Disclaimer: I own nothing contained herein other than the idea.

I write today to record this, so that even though we are forgotten, we may remain as a story. Perhaps even a comic book (God knows those can get pretty outlandish). This is a story that will not be infamous. It probably won't even be remembered. 

Kitty always talks about how like the Holocaust this is, and how the world will rise up against the perpetrators of this crime. It won't. The world _is_ the perpetrator of this crime. The people have sat by and applauded as we have been murdered. Why? Because we are different. Because we are _mutants_. 

I hate that word, you know. Magneto, who is here at great reluctance (as he always says) claims we should be proud to be mutants, and that we are the future. Well, where's that future now? _It's gone! Dead!_

I need to calm down. I think I've slowly lost my sanity in this cell. I spend all my time trapped with everybody I know. The professor, Magneto, all the X-Men, the Brotherhood… even some of the Morlocks who managed to get out after… well, you'll know soon enough. I tell it when I get there. Anyway, I now ramble constantly. The guards are scared to death of me, despite the power dampers on all the walls outside of the cell. They decided to allow us to use our powers inside the cell, in hopes that we would kill each other. They don't want to get their hands dirty… I'm rambling again

Focus… all right, I think I can push myself in the right direction. It's not easy, you know, writing about the destruction of everything you know or care about…

Anyway, this is the story. It's not a happy one, but it's mine…

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A/N 2: If you like it, let me know. If you don't like it… FLAME ME YOU BASTARDS! I _feed_ on your _hatred… Mwa ha ha ha…_


	2. The Tale

Disclaimer: I own nothing contained herein other than the idea.

A/N: This chapter is written in the third person.

And now to answer reviewers (And to thank them muchly)

misskris: I'm excited about where this is going too!

ShinigamiPheonix: Thanks! None of my fics have ever been called brilliant before!

mAd RoGuE: You're probably right… but I won't tell until the end… 

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Some days just don't turn out the way they are supposed to. This was one of those.

It didn't seem that way at first, of course. Days like that never do. It was beautiful out, warm and sunny and seventy-five degrees. Birds sang, flowers bloomed… you know, the usual wonderful day type crap. Scott was sitting in the courtyard of the institute, soaking up the sun and the fresh air, and just enjoying life in general. His perfect morning, however, was abruptly shattered by a number of noises from the living room, particularly exclamations of outrage. He got up, and ventured into the mansion, grumbling about irritating and loud younger teenagers. What he saw in the living room dropped his jaw.

The entire population of the institute was standing by the TV, watching as the President of the United States spoke about a series of new laws focused on what he termed "possible terrorist threats." In essence, mutants were now required to wear an armband with a double helix stitched on to it. The United Nations, as well as most major world religions, was supporting the laws. Because that influence, every nation on the planet had, in an incredible display of agreement, taken up the laws. 

Scott felt sick. He faintly heard the others in the background, but their words were unclear. He stumbled over to the couch, and flopped down, staring at the screen. The muttering of the other mutants was becoming more agitated. Some of the more excitable ones were panicking. The noise increased. The TV just kept playing the speech. Tension was building in Scott's mind, his blood was pounding in his ears, and that infernal TV just kept—

Silence reigned. A crater now sat where the TV had been, as Scott slid his glasses back up the bridge of his nose to cut off his eye-beam. The entire room stared in shock. Then the Professor broke the silence.

"Thank you, Scott." He then addressed his students. "In regards to these events, I will not control whether or not you register and get the armband. I personally will not, and I will encourage you to avoid taking the easy way out, but it is up to you… Jean, I believe it may be necessary to purchase a new television in order to keep us informed. It would be advisable to do so before restrictions increase." 

"Yes, Professor." Jean grabbed her purse and headed out the door.

Over the next few weeks, things became steadily worse. Mutants with the armband were promised protection from bullies or rioters. Each day students from the Institute, especially the younger ones, came home with ashamed looks on their faces and bands on their arms. Soon the government was offering "shelters to protect the mutants from the humans," isolating any who took refuge from the outside world. Violence was increasing, as was regulation. In addition, the Morlocks were attacked, and some of them captured. Nobody knew where the captured ones had gone, so the surviving Morlocks had taken refuge in the Institute.

Then the final blow came. The residents of the institute were once again watching the evening news, to find out if anything else was going to happen to them. Today, it was.

" 'Also in today's news, Dr. Bolivar Trask claims to have created a machine that can detect and neutralize dangerous mutants. While this may sound similar to his failed Sentinel Project; it has some important differences. Dr. Trask, what are those differences?'

'Well, the Morbot is made of revolutionary biotechnology. It can detect the psionic signatures of mutants anywhere on earth using a revolutionary biochemical. In addition, the Morbot secretes another fluid that renders all who come in contact with it unconscious. It is actually a person, man or woman, who has volunteered, and has been genetically altered to produce these and other chemicals. They also have cybernetically enhanced strength and speed, and can fly.'

'Doctor, what do you say to allegations that you have been illegally experimenting and dissecting mutants?'

'All I can say is, who cares?'

--Laughter—

'But seriously, I have been experimenting and dissecting mutants, but they were from a group of terrorists living in the sewers. The abilities in the Morbots are actually taken from them. The terrorists called themselves Morlocks, hence the name _Morbots_.'

'Thank you, Dr. Trask, I'm sure we will all sleep better knowing that we are safe from the mutant menace.'" 

A chill spread over the room. Then came a broken sob. Callisto, the tough leader of the Morlocks, was on her knees, crying. The rest of the room was silent, in respect for the Morlocks who had been captured and dissected. The world had just become a far more dismal place—people they knew had fallen.

As bad as things had been before, the Morbots made it steadily worse. Taking refuge in the "shelters" became mandatory by law. Mutants caught outside could be charged with terrorism, and put to death without a trial. Lynching increased, and the mutant death toll skyrocketed. The X-Men had quit going to school, and the Brotherhood had joined the Morlocks at the Institute. The Institute was on a permanent Defcon-4 setting, to protect the mutants from all comers. When the Morbots came, however, it didn't help.

Tension filled the air so thickly it could be felt. The rooms were dim, as power had been siphoned off to the defenses. Jamie came running in, panicking. "They're coming, the Morbots are coming."

Instantly the atmosphere went from tense to fearful. Somehow, everybody _knew_ that the end had come. It was a very unpleasant feeling, really. Kind of a sinking in the bottom of the gut, a little bit of nausea… that sort of thing. Anyway, they were sitting there, in the pit of despair, when there was a crash. The defenses were down. It was over. 

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A/N2: Come on people, review!


	3. Sweet Relief

A/N: This chapter is the one I hope to provoke a bit of a reaction with, but I don't know if it will. Anyway, this is the last chapter (unless I write an epilogue). My faithful fans (uh. . . both of them) will be happy to know that I'm going back to Omega afterward 

Disclaimer: I own nothing contained herein other than the idea.   
  


And now, a word to my reviewers--   
  


ShinigamiPheonix: Wow, you really seem excited about this story! Thank you so incredibly much.   
  


Anna: Hey, beautiful! Thanks! (That's my girlfriend. Everybody, say "Hi Anna!") 

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After that there was little we could do. The Morbots captured us one by one. . . some of us escaped, but they were tracked down and brought to this place just the same. We quickly realized that it was hopeless. The mutants who _had_ gone to the shelters had been killed, and those who hadn't had been tracked down. 

Even our greatest chance of escape is gone. They found the Eye of Ages in Egypt a few weeks ago, warped and shattered. Apocalypse himself lay inside, dead. He had fallen through time, and the Eye had cracked a little. That let the forces of time play havoc with his body, aging him and making him younger in rapid succession. Apparently even his body couldn't handle the strain. He died in possibly the most excruciating way possible. Kind of funny, really. 

Anyway, with all hope gone, all we could do is plan out how to die. Lance was the first to suggest appointing one of us to kill all of the remaining mutants, thus depriving the government of the pleasure. It was quickly pointed out that the remaining mutant would be alone, and miserable. . . then somebody realized that there was somebody who could kill, but still have all of them for company. That would be me, Rogue. 

Yes, I absorbed them all, from Xavier to Magneto. I am now the most powerful mutant ever, but it does me no good. I am alone, except for the voices, and they just remind me of what I've lost. It's all gone, nothing's left. Everything has disappeared, and I have nothing. . . and I'm being redundant. Maybe it's the voices speaking through me, or maybe it's my insanity. Who knows? It doesn't really make a difference. 

I can hear footsteps. They're coming to execute me. Finally, I can rest. The voices will leave me alone, and I can sleep. The short, troubled existence of the race known as mutants will end. Life is too bleak and hopeless to continue. . .   
  
  
  


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A/N2: Well, I did it! I killed of the entire mutant race! Like it? Hate it? Tell me! Please, I'm begging! 


	4. Epilogue

Never Forget: Epilogue

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I will likely never own it… :-(

* * *

Two days had passed since death of the last mutant. In some place a thousand miles away, a baby girl opened her eyes for the first time. Nobody noticed the slight purple sheen. They wouldn't, for a few years at least…

* * *

He opened the door to the room, and grimaced. It was a mess! There had been some sort of prison here, he knew. He speculated that it could've been the place where the government kept the mutants, but he wasn't sure… and didn't really care. He was just there to get paid, to support him until his writing took off.

He began to clean. It was a huge job, and he knew it would take at least a couple of weeks, but he had to start some where. He began to pick up pieces of garbage all around the room, when he spotted a thin sheaf of paper. He looked at it curiously.

Then he skimmed over the front page. What he read there left him stunned. Was it really like that? He frowned.

He shook his head, and finished cleaning for the night. As he headed out of the room, he picked the papers up to finish reading at home.

He left the compound, and called to the guard on his way out. "Good night, Bart."

The guard grinned. "Good night, Stan."

* * *

A/N: I have always felt that the idea of eradicating mutants is a stupid one, simply because there would always be more born…

And, if anybody got the joke in the second part, I realize that it doesn't fit in at all with real history. If that bugs you… bite me. If it doesn't bug you… laugh, my friend. You have achieved the enlightenment of going with the flow.


End file.
